


Words and Hands

by entanglednow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-15
Updated: 2009-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel offers himself up as a teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words and Hands

Dean's spent too much of his life in crappy motel bathrooms.

This one's nothing to write home about. It has the strange too-close smell of damp plaster and old mould, cheap disinfect and even cheaper air freshener. Though it's bigger than most. There's enough space to stand in front of the mirror, half steamed up since he got out of the shower in lines of mist and running water.

Dean can barely see his own reflection but he's used to that as well. He's used to not wanting to, glimpses of himself through the misted glass too quick and too small to hurt.

He stabs his tongue against his teeth, looking for loose ones, cuts in the skin, in a way that's as cautiously optimistic as it's been his whole life. Before he remembers that Zachariah fixed them all up; that he isn't going to find any breaks or fractures or even any cuts. He can't help but think there's something wrong about coming out the other side of a mess clean.

Not entirely clean.

He raises a hand to his chest and presses down.

There's a warm ache under the skin, and he doesn't even know if that's an after-echo of having symbols carved into his ribs, or his own damn imagination over it. His chest looks exactly the same, skin just a little too hot under his fingers, but Dean thinks maybe that's just because he knows it's there.

"You'll need to take your protection seriously from now on," Castiel's voice sounds even deeper than usual. Bathroom acoustics suit him. He should make speeches about how they were all doomed in here more often.

"You make it sound like we've just been winging it so far." Dean isn't sure whether he should be amused or insulted when Castiel's sigh suggests that's _exactly_ what he thinks they've been doing. Though, to be fair, Cas is the only reason their 'winging it' today hadn't ended messier than usual.

He lifts his head, finds Castiel's vague outline in the steamed-up mirror.

"Carving us up didn't seem a little bit extreme?" he suggests to the angel's blurry image. But that's not good enough and he turns around, finds where he takes up space between the shower and the door.

He looks out of place under the artificial light, muted, and though Dean would swear there's something different about him since he came back, something _more_ he's still wearing that expression Dean's so familiar with, like he's struggling to understand something. Like Dean frustrates him by just _not getting it._ Though he thinks maybe there's something fond there now, and Dean doesn't miss the righteous arrogance one tiny bit.

"The symbols can't be removed by cutting your skin from your body," Castiel reminds him quietly, and yeah, like Dean didn't know that. Like he doesn't have experience with demons and their need to remove everything they don't want by force. To literally carve all the way through you to get what they want. He knows that's why Cas did it.

But the fact that it's so invasive that it's _inside him,_ where he can't see it. Dean's never been very good at putting his faith in things he can't see.

"Yeah, trust me, I understand, it's just the actual-" Dean presses his fingers into the skin, over where Cas had pushed marks all the way through.

Castiel says nothing for a moment. Long enough that Dean turns back to the mirror, pushes his fingers in deeper until he can feel every sharp line of his ribs, testing each as if he'll be able to feel something through the muscle, through the skin. The fact that he's protected, that Sam's protected too. He thinks that's worth a few score marks in his ribs and that strange heat under the skin, more than worth it. He'll take any advantages he can get. Any single one. If they're going to do this and mean it, if they're going to have a chance- and God he's serious about them having a chance- then he'll need to take everything that's offered. Even things he normally wouldn't have, no matter what his pride says about it.

"Thanks," Dean knows that isn't good enough, that somehow they've gone past 'thank you's.' He's not sure when it happened or what it is that they have now. He sighs. "Really, thank you."

Cas tips his head towards him, just a little.

It's good to have him back. Sure he's impossibly irritating, truly _obnoxiously_ enigmatic at times, he never gets straight to the point and his disappearing/reappearing tricks were old months ago, but damned if Dean doesn't feel better knowing he's on their side. Though he still has to fight against the strange insistence that Cas is his angel- their angel. Which just seems wrong. Because he's an angel for God's sake, not a stray dog they can just lay claim to. Just because he's here, just because he's on their side, doesn't mean he's _theirs._

The fact that they have someone might have been good enough, but the fact that it's Cas.

His life doesn't feel quite as fucked as it did before.

"I'm glad you're not dead." There's a long drag of honesty under the words. But it sounds clumsy, like it's not good enough, like it's just another one of the useless platitudes he's thrown out over the years. When it's anything but, when he really, truly, is glad to have Cas back. "Really glad."

There's a threat of a smile there, which Dean figures would be ludicrous grinning on anyone else, so he guesses maybe Cas knows the difference by now, no matter how he sounds to himself.

"I saw what you did."

It takes Dean a second to work out what he means, and even then he's not sure how he knows.

"You mean when I used your angel-be-gone spell?"

Castiel looks like he quietly disapproves of the phrasing, but with him it's hard to judge. He's not exactly at one with his face, with his borrowed face- though considering he's supposed to be dead maybe it is just his face now? Maybe Jimmy Novak checked out in Chuck's living room when the angel inside exploded. That had to be hard to come back from.

"Yes, though it would not be wise to use the spell too often. It's more powerful than you think."

"I'm using everything I have," Dean says simply. "Literally everything."

But it wasn't going to be good enough.

Castiel frowns and steps forward, like he'd heard the thought.

"I don't want to be a vessel," Dean says flatly, one firm headshake behind the words. "No offence but I can't think of anything I want less than that right now. Like this isn't hard enough with them dicking us around from the outside. I know damn well that it might some day come down to watching everything burn or _that._ And I still can't stop my instant reaction being 'hell no.'"

He knows what that sounds like, knows it makes him sound like the biggest bastard in the world. But Castiel just looks at him, and there's no judgment there, though Dean thinks maybe this one time there should be, that he deserves it. He feels like he's finally made a decision that's his own, that he's deciding, for the first time in a long time he's the one deciding. And he can't stop that little voice in the back of his head that says maybe he's deciding wrong.

"Right now I can't, I just can't, but if it ever does happen, if it _ever_ happens, it's going to be on my own terms."

"You believe they'll trick you into becoming a vessel?" Castiel says quietly, and it's not a question. Like he already knows his superiors are a bunch of dicks.

Dean nods, one quick, jerky movement.

"Damn right I do."

Castiel looks at the door, like he can see through it, like he can see Sam on the other side. When he turns back to Dean his expression has changed, just a fraction, though for the life of him he couldn’t say exactly how.

"There are other protections, defences, I could teach you." Castiel's voice is quiet, but intent, there's a thread of promise there. But something uncertain as well, like he expects Dean to refuse. Like he expects Dean to react like he'd just offered to open a vein.

Dean frowns. "That wouldn't get you in trouble?"

"No more than I am already." Castiel's voice is smooth but it's not really an answer.

Dean's going to bet that the real answer's somewhere around 'craploads of trouble' and he doesn't deserve this. He really doesn't. But he needs it. They need it.

"You know I already feel bad about the shit I've dragged you through." Dean realises immediately that that's not even close to an apology. "And I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologise." Castiel makes it true, makes it a fact, but Dean doesn't care. He deserves an apology. It may have been his own choice in the end, but Dean pushed him, he pushed him all the way to the edge.

"Dude, I'm the reason you got kicked out, I'm the reason you died- exploded- whatever; glad as I am to have you on our side, because I am, stupidly glad, I don't feel good about it."

"I in no way hold you responsible, Dean, I made my own decisions and I believe they were the ones I was supposed to make."

Dean huffs disbelief, shakes his head. "That seems like an easy out for me."

"You should let go of the things you can't change." Castiel takes a step, brings his frown and his insistence closer.

Dean leans back, just a fraction, resisting Castiel's need to absolve him when he doesn't deserve it.

"You mean I should stop fretting about the past and worry about the truly stupendous amount of shit we're in, yeah I get that. Much as I enjoy thinking about the battle we're truly, ridiculously, underequipped for."

"I'd like to change that." Castiel looks about as earnest as he can get. Dean figures that maybe that's what angelic resolve looks like when it comes from inside. It looks good on him.

Dean pushes a hand through his hair, and Castiel's expression is so serious, so intense that Dean gets the feeling he's missing something that this thing Castiel's offering him is more complicated than he thinks it is. Is maybe even something _different_ to what he thinks it is.

He should ask about it, he should push, because damned if he never gets a straight answer out of anyone around here. Everyone talking around what they really want to say when there's so much underneath. Just waiting to bring the ground down underneath them all. But they keep doing it, they keep papering over it, again and again. Dean thinks they've gotten so used to it they don't know how to live any other way.

"I'm willing if you are," he says instead.

Castiel nods like it's already been decided, steps closer to him, the long edge of his coat pressed into the tiles.

"Some of the spells will take more effort on your part than others."

"Effort I can do."

Castiel nods, like he knows the truth of that as well as Dean.

"And some of them you will find...uncomfortable."

Dean translates that as 'some of them will hurt like hell' but then, nothing worth doing is ever easy.

"That I can do as well."

Castiel doesn't nod this time, he simply searches Dean's face. Whatever he finds there seems to be good enough.

"You have to know that the more you learn the more you'll be able to see. The way the symbols should go to summon, control or repel certain forces. You'll begin to understand them."

There's a pause and Dean hates that he knows Cas well enough to spot his cautionary 'I'm going to tell you something that sucks' pause by now.

"I sense a 'but' coming here," Dean says roughly, an edge of tiredness under the words, because there's always a 'but.'

"But, it's dangerous, you're only human. It would be very unwise for you to try something without knowing what it does, or how powerful a spell it is. No matter how much it feels like the right thing to do."

"So, if I drew out the wrong one-"

"It would burn you up inside," Castiel provides.

"That would be bad," Dean pulls a face.

"That would be very bad." Castiel's voice is really well suited to dire portents of doom. Dean gets the message under the words though. He's reckless, and his recklessness could kill him. Which meant 'no dicking around on Castiel's watch.'

"I'm going to trust you not to let that happen," Dean says, and he's half-joking but he means it, he really does mean it. He isn't sure when exactly that happened and considering how messed up things are he's not entirely sure if it's wise- fairly sure it isn't- but he thinks that's one of those lines you go over and then you're just on the other side, whether you like it or not.

Cas tips his head to the side, ever so slightly, and looks at him, really _looks_ at him. Like he's just as surprised to find that he has Dean's trust as Dean is. Like he can see all the way through and he's stunned to find it there.

Castiel's hand lifts, hovers over his own, like he's not sure if he has permission to touch. Dean raises it without hesitation, until his knuckles push into Castiel's palm. His skin is as warm as his own. For a second it's just weight, a strangely ordinary touch of skin on skin, and Dean is tempted to make a joke about Cas looking for a reason to hold his hand when his fingers tighten.

Castiel takes a step, moves closer, until the material of his coat and shirt touch Dean's shoulder, a strange warm press of fabric where the bathroom's gone cold. He raises his hand to the mirror and very slowly traces out a circle in the condensation. The glass is cold under Dean's fingers, slippery wet, and from every curve water trails down, cutting through the finished sphere.

Then Cas lifts his hand from the glass, adds the triangle above, the middle symbol in the middle, though the other symbols are all reversed.

His hand stills.

"The first banishes, this prevents them from leaving."

"Prevents them how?"

Castiel taps Dean's fingers against the mirror, lets his fingers drag through the triangle at the top.

"It will hold them in the material plane. Though it will not stop them from walking out of the door."

The symbols are running lines of water now, breaking apart.

"What if the one in the middle's reversed as well?"

Castiel's hand tightens round his own, a flicker of warning.

"I would strongly suggest you do not try that."

"What does it do?"

"It's part of a sigil that bends an angel to your will," Castiel says quietly.

Dean takes a breath.

"Yeah, lets not do that." Because he can guarantee if he tries that and doesn't burn up like a candle he's going to have one extremely pissed off angel on his hands...one _more_ extremely pissed off angel on his hands.

Castiel brings his hand to the mirror again and very carefully erases the middle symbol, draws one which is rounder, a falling curve.

"You can draw the symbol to summon an angel by name, though it won't be binding."

Dean's fingertips are still touching the glass, pressed in where it's still cold, water running from his fingers to Castiel's.

"So it's like going round their house knocking on all their windows and shouting. It doesn't necessarily mean they have to open the door?"

There's a very faint noise behind his ear.

"Essentially, yes," Castiel says slowly and this time there's definitely a sliver of amusement there.

"Is there any way you can _make_ them show up?"

"Compelling an angel to appear is far stronger, darker magic than you could perform alone." Castiel sounds uncomfortable behind him. "It's also...very unpleasant."

Dean stiffens, feels the rustle of cloth against his shoulder.

"Hey, you don't have to do this Cas, I don't need to know everything. Just how to protect us."

"I want you to be prepared for anything. Considering what we're facing it's only wise."

Dean turns his head, finds the side of Castiel's face, strangely intent where it stares at the mirror, and then turns to look at him.

"But I can see this is hard for you, and I know we're not exactly what you would have chosen. I know we're a pretty shitty choice from any angle-" Dean stops, because he hates how much he believes that's true. He's spent so long doing his best to protect as many people as possible, and now everything is a mess. Their own mess, of their own making and he's still dragging people over the edge with them.

He realises, belatedly, that Cas is still holding his hand. He pulls it free, Castiel's fingers relax instantly to let him go.

"You were never the bad choice," Cas says quietly, like he doesn't even have to think about it, like he just _believes_ it, voice so close to Dean's ear that it feels strangely intimate. Dean's never let anyone that close. He's spent his whole life making sure nothing could stick a knife in his back. He's breaking so many of his own rules for Castiel, and he doesn’t even realise he's doing it. He's not even seeing them go, one minute they just don't apply any more. It's like his skin _knows_ him, and messed up as that sounds- because really, it does sound badly messed up- he trusts Castiel. Which is insane, but when has anything in his life not been insane by normal standards.

He turns around, frowns at how calm Cas looks, how he looks like normal and ordinary wrapped around so much impossible and terrifying.

"We're not a good choice," Dean says honestly. "You know what we've done."

"Yes," Castiel says simply. "And I'm with you until the end, wherever it is."

The rest of whatever Dean was going to say is lost, he exhales, loud and rough. Because there are no words, no words at all for that.

"You're an idiot you know that."

Castiel says nothing, though Dean's going to take that as quiet protest.

"So, if there's a way I can have _your_ back as well then I want to know it."

Castiel's face is perfectly readable surprise for a long second. His mouth opens, just a little, though he doesn't speak. It's almost like he's searching for the right words and can't find them either.

The mirror is half fogged over again.

Dean lifts Castiel's arm by his sleeve, finds his hand, which seems oddly surprised to be holding his own again.

"Show me again how to shout down an angel."

  



End file.
